Enter Octavia with her train
OCTAVIA Hail, Caesar, and my lord; hail, most dear Caesar!
CAESAR That ever I should call thee castaway!
OCTAVIA You have not called me so, nor have you cause.
CAESAR Why have you stol’n upon us thus? You come not
Like Caesar’s sister. The wife of Antony
Should have an army for an usher, and
The neighs of horse to tell of her approach
Long ere she did appear. The trees by th’ way
Should have borne men, and expectation fainted,
Longing for what it had not. Nay, the dust
Should have ascended to the roof of heaven,
Raised by your populous troops. But you are come
A market maid to Rome, and have prevented
The ostentation of our love; which, left unshown,
Is often left unloved. We should have met you
By sea and land, supplying every stage
With an augmented greeting. (3.6.39-55)
Octavia, as promised and anticipated—and with her train, the nature of which is moot here. There may well be as many attendants as a production can furnish, whether waiting women or armed attendants or both, page boys, whatever—but it has to be small and, even more, there has to be a contrast with Cleopatra’s train: no feather fans or eunuchs, strictly business casual and coordinated luggage. The greeting is formal: hail, Caesar, and my lord; hail, most dear Caesar; she’s not greeting him (at least not initially) as brother, and while my lord acknowledges his political status as leader, there’s also, possibly, the slight suggestion that if he is her lord, Antony (as her husband) no longer is. Perhaps. Caesar is shocked: that ever I should call thee castaway! His immediate assumption is that Antony has abandoned her, based on both her appearance and, even more, on the news he’s just been discussing with Agrippa and Maecenas. How dare he! How dare he cast you off in this state! I never thought it’d come to this. Octavia, as ever, stands her ground: well, you have not called me so (a neat deflation of his rhetoric, taking it completely literally) and actually, you don’t have cause. Don’t leap to conclusions, brother.
Caesar changes tack; he’s concerned about keeping up appearances and his first impressions aren’t good. Why have you stol’n upon us thus? is questioning both, why didn’t you send word you were coming, why have you come unannounced (Caesar likes to know about everything in advance, it’s a control thing) and also, why have you come like this? And this is the bit he expands: you come not like Caesar’s sister. You’re not performing your status, none of this befits your rank, your position as my sister. Even more, the wife of Antony should have an army for an usher, a proper military escort (if there are uniformed retainers in the train, an equerry or two, they might look sheepish, or put out); the wife of Antony should have the neighs of horse to tell of her approach, long ere she did appear. You should have the whole damn household cavalry riding ahead of you! There should have been crowds lining the road to look at you, so that the trees by the way should have borne men who had climbed into their branches to see you all the better, people clamouring for a glimpse, and so excited at the prospect, so overwhelmed, that they were fainting with the longing and expectation. You should have come with such a great train that the clouds of dust they raised should have ascended to the roof of heaven, raised by your populous troops. (A folk memory, perhaps, of Elizabeth I on progress through the English countryside, which some at least in the audience would have witnessed.)
But you are come a market maid to Rome, says Caesar—which has to be an exaggeration, and the attendants can look properly insulted at this. You’re travelling like a peasant, and you have prevented the ostentation of our love; which, left unshown, is often left unloved. If we’d known you were coming, and if you’d made a bigger deal of it, we could have prepared an appropriate welcome, a bit of a show to demonstrate the strength of our bond. You’ve denied us (me) the opportunity to show how much we (I) care! And so it might look as if we don’t! Given enough notice, we should have met you by sea and land, supplying every stage with an augmented greeting. I’d have come out to meet you on the road, with proper escorts, proper ceremony. All of it is the opposite of the vast, vulgar spectacle of Antony and Cleopatra in Alexandria, which Caesar has just described.
Caesar: loves protocol, hates surprises. Is always calculating the cost-benefit of everything; worries about looking bad, or looking in the wrong. And also, loves his sister.